


all the things you do (i’m so addicted to)

by bilexualclarke



Series: tumblr prompts [9]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Fingerfucking, Post-Season/Series 03, and also squirter!Clarke makes an appearance, basically they saved the world so now there's time to get fingerbanged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bilexualclarke/pseuds/bilexualclarke
Summary: Bellamy picks up each piece of paper delicately, as if they would turn to dust with too much pressure. She has let him look at her sketches before, even ones of him, but none of them have ever been of this nature.“Is this…?”“I’m sorry,” Clarke blurts out. “That was inappropriate. I shouldn’t ha-”“You’ve thought about this?” Bellamy looks up at her sharply, and his voice is strained. “About me touching you like this?”“Yes,” Clarke whispers immediately, because she can’t lie to him about anything. prompt: Bellamy's forearms + smut





	

One of the problems of living on an oil rig indefinitely is that, for one, they’re living on an oil rig. Adapting to the woods had been a walk in the park compared to this; their Earth Skills training had at least given them _some_ idea of what to expect. Now they’re surrounded by heavy duty machinery that they must learn how to operate if they want to integrate themselves into life on the rig.

 

Raven is in her prime, but the rest of them have been struggling. Clarke and her mother have been busy in the medical center, tending to wounds caused by lack of experience. It’s been mostly burns and cuts so far, but it seems to be never ending.  By the time dinner rolls around, she’s dead on her feet and can barely muster up enough energy to sit up straight in the mess hall.

 

“Hey. Bedtime already?”

 

Clarke straightens up quickly as Bellamy takes a seat across from her, setting his plate down on the table and immediately stealing a piece of crab meat from her plate. That one is a new delicacy, one that Bellamy can’t seem to get enough of.

 

He eyes her curiously as he chews. “Clarke. Are you alright?”

 

“What? Yeah, I’m fine.” She shakes her head and looks back down at her plate, pushing the meat around before shoving a forkful into her mouth. She gulps her water next, hoping to ward off the flush she knows is creeping across her face. “What happened to your shirt?”

 

Bellamy glances down at the black long sleeved Henley he was most definitely not wearing when Clarke last saw him at breakfast.

 

“Got grease all over it so Miller lent me this one.” Bellamy scoffs. “Last time I ever let Raven rope me into helping her with a project.”

 

Clarke offers what she hopes sounds like a convincing chuckle, but she’s a little too distracted to care. Her eyes ae focuses on his sleeves, which have been pushed up to just beneath his elbows, exposing the thick cords of muscle on his dark, tanned forearms. The thought jumps into her head before she can stop it, and all she can think about is sinking her teeth into the muscled flesh.

 

“You sure you’re feeling okay?” Bellamy puts down his fork and leans across the table, his fingers brushing over her wrist. Casual touched like this have become commonplace between them after saving the world, and Clarke relishes them just as much as they drive her crazy.

 

“I promise, Bellamy.” Clarke takes one last bite before pushing her half-finished plate towards him. “I have a few things to finish up in the medical center, but I’ll find you later, okay?”

He eyes her for a moment before squeezing her wrist and relaxing back in his chair. “Okay, Clarke.”

 

She does find him later, as promised, although instead of finishing up her duties in medical she spent twenty minutes in her quarters, splashing water on her face in the bathroom and trying to will the image of his forearms from her mind.

 

Once she calms down, she sneaks off to the place she knows she’ll find him: the abandoned storage closet on E deck. It’s the only closet with a porthole, so it never feels too stuffy or too dark, and it’s full of old cardboard boxes that make surprisingly comfortable chairs. The boxes are filled with old Crew tee shirts, most of them full of holes and moth balls, but the salvageable fabrics are still used to patch up old clothes.

 

Bellamy has stacked a few boxes near the porthole and that’s how Clarke finds him each time, sprawled over them like a couch, a book in hand. He’s wearing glasses, which is new and also, _fuck_ , that’s unfair. Clarke can barely hold it together at the sight of his forearms and now she has to deal with glasses, too?

 

“Did you plan to get a makeover today?” she jokes, shutting the door behind her and collapsing onto the boxes he set up for her, right next to him. She faces the opposite way, though, so that she can face him and her legs rest by his waist. Kicking her shoes off, she settles in and opens her sketchbook.

 

“These,” Bellamy says, tapping the glasses, “are my payment for helping Raven and ruining my shirt. You’re not the only one who has noticed that I’ve been squinting lately.”

 

“Do your eyes feel better?”

 

“Much.”

 

She nods in acknowledgement and flips open her sketchbook to a new page. A year ago, she didn’t think she would be able to have any of these quiet moments, let alone with Bellamy by her side. It’s something neither of them thought they’d deserve, each of them stuck in their own hole of self-hatred, but they’d dug their way out. Together.

 

Clarke has been sketching in silence for about twenty minutes before Bellamy breaks. Every time he would turn a page he’d sneak a peak at her, and every time he looked he’d see her glancing up and his glasses and smirking.

 

Bellamy rolls his eyes at her grin and sighs. “Okay, you can say it.”

 

“ _I told you_ you needed glasses,” Clarke teases immediately, stretching her leg out to poke at his glasses with her sock-covered toe. She grabs her foot and playfully twists so that her legs end up in his lap. His arm wraps around her legs at the shin, pinning them so he can tickle her feet.

 

“Oh my God! Stop it! Bell, stop!” Clarke cackles, twisting to get out of his grip. Her sketchbook falls to the floor as she writhes, overcome with laughter. The attack only lasts a few seconds, but it leaves her breathless.

 

“You are the most ticklish person I’ve ever met,” Bellamy says with a laugh, tucking her legs safely back onto her stack of boxes.

 

“Yeah? You go around tickling a lot of people?” Clarke retorts, arching an eyebrow.

 

Bellamy rolls his eyes again before leaning over, his long arms stretching over her to pick her sketchbook off the ground. “Here you g-”

 

The sketchbook had fallen open on the ground, thankfully face down. But when Bellamy picks it up to give it to her, a few pages fly out and scatter on the ground. The binding had been loose for a while now, so much so that Clarke couldn’t sketch on the deck of the rig in fear of a breeze blowing the pages right out. As luck would have it, the pages that escape are the ones she had just been working on.

 

The ones of Bellamy.

 

The first one is just a quick sketch of his profile, his head hunched over, eyes focused on the page he was reading. The second is of his hand gripping the book, so gentle but so strong at the same time. The third is the one that makes her cheeks flame up and avert her eyes. It could arguably be of anyone, but the explicit and intricate details leave no question that it’s him.

 

It’s his arm, Henley and all, with the sleeves rolled up to show off his forearm, his hand digging into the supple flesh of a thigh- _her thigh_ \- as he wraps it around his waist.

 

Bellamy picks up each piece of paper delicately, as if they would turn to dust with too much pressure. She has let him look at her sketches before, even ones of him, but none of them have ever been of this nature.

 

“Is this…?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke blurts out. “That was inappropriate. I shouldn’t ha-”

 

“You’ve thought about this?” Bellamy looks up at her sharply, and his voice is strained. “About me touching you like this?”

 

“Yes,” Clarke whispers immediately, because she can’t lie to him about anything. _Every night,_ she wants to say. _Every night I wake up chasing dreams of your hands and your tongue and so I slip my fingers between my legs, where it’s hot and wet and throbbing, and I try to pretend that it’s you._

Bellamy places the papers back inside the sketchbook and closes it, placing it with his book on a box next to them.

 

“Do you…” He trails off, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. “Do you want me to touch you like this?”

 

He rests his left hand, so lightly she can barely feel the weight of it, on top of her right thigh, gauging her reaction. Automatically, she shifts so that her legs open, and the action makes his eyes darken.

 

“I do,” she hears herself say, and her heart is beating a mile a minute in her throat because she wants this so badly but it’s _Bellamy_ and this is a line they can’t uncross. But it’s also _Bellamy_. Her best friend, her partner, her confidant. She trusts him more than anyone else on this Earth, and she fucking loves him more than anyone else on this Earth, too.

 

“Clarke.” His voice is like gravel, and the roughness of it sends a thrill through her. Her nipples harden beneath the fabric of her bra and she feels a rush of warmth go straight to her clit. “Clarke, you have to know.”

 

His hand lays heavy on her thigh now, and leans forward until their faces are mere inches apart. Her left hand comes up to cup his cheek, her thumb unconsciously rubbing the soft skin of his cheekbone as his eyes bore into hers, pouring his soul out with just a look.

 

“You have to know,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. _I love you._

 

“I know,” Clarke says, dipping her head forward so that he can feel her warm breath on his lips. _I love you, too._

 

Whatever force that had been holding them back snaps then, and their lips crash together and _oh_. It’s exactly like how Clarke imagined it would be. His lips are a little chapped but still soft, and they move insistently over hers. Both of her hands cup his face, pulling him as close to her as he can get, whereas his hands circle her waist and _fuck_ , they’re so big that his fingers can almost touch. He squeezes the fleshy skin of her waist as they kiss, as if checking to make sure she’s there. She will undoubtedly have marks in the morning, and she can’t wait to see them.

 

“Shit,” Clarke gasps into his mouth when he nips at her lower lip, sending a jolt through her that makes her clit throb. She can feel his smirk on her mouth as her hands leave his face, trailing down to grip his biceps and pull him until he’s practically laying on top of her. He swipes over the bite with his tongue, teasing, and she’s never one to back down from a challenge, so retaliates with a little nip of her own.

 

“Yeah? Is that how you’re gonna be?” He murmurs, his lips leaving her mouth to press against the skin beneath her ear. “You like a little bit of teeth, hmm?”

 

Before she can answer, he ducks a bit lower and sinks his teeth into the flesh of her neck, his lips closing around them to suck a love bite into her skin. Unprepared for the sheer amount of pleasure that washes over her with that single touch, Clarke cries out and arches into him. Her clit is throbbing so much at this point that it’s almost painful, and it’s only getting worse as he sucks and bites his way down her neck.

 

She’s not positive, but she’s fairly certain that she could come in mere seconds if she even felt his breath on her cunt.

 

“Bellamy, I need…” She trails off when he abandons her neck, straightening up so that he’s looming over her, his eyes dark and his lips swollen and red. His dark curls are falling over his eyes and she lifts a hand from his arm to run her fingers through them, tenderly pushing them out of his eyes.

 

“Can I get you off, Clarke?” he asks, making her heart stutter. He looks so genuine, so honestly excited by the possibility, that a small part of her wants to cry. “Would you let me do that for you?”

 

She nods, eyes widen with excitement. Bellamy grins so wide it looks like his face might split in two, and he surges up to press a quick kiss to her lips before rolling off of her and standing up. He pulls her to her feet as well and then turns back to the boxes, rearranging them so that it makes one wide, flat, elevated surface.

 

“I’ll get you into a bed next time,” he promises when he turns back to her, “but I don’t think I have it in me to take it to one right now.”

 

And with that he bends, scoops her into his arms as if she weighed less than the air itself, and deposits her gently onto the stack of boxes. With the way he has arranged them, she is able to lie flat on her back with her hips at the edge, the height of the boxes putting her right at the level of his waist.

 

“Are you going to fuck me now?” Clarke asks, propping herself up on her elbows. Bellamy makes a strangled sound in his throat and leans down to kiss her again.

 

“No,” he says when he pulls back. “Not this time.”

 

His hands make their way under her shirt to squeeze at her waist again.

 

“But, I do plan to make you scream for me.”

 

He kisses her before she can respond, and he keeps kissing her, his hands caressing her waist and stomach until Clarke feels herself grow frustrated.

 

“Not to rush you along,” she says, pulling back and stripping off her shirt, watching proudly as Bellamy’s eyes fall straight to her chest, “but I’m rushing you along.”

 

His eyes flit back up to hers, alight with excitement. “So demanding.”

 

“You talk a big game; I’m starting to think you won’t deliver.”

 

Bellamy grins wolfishly and cups her breasts, savoring the feel of the heavy weight in his hands.

 

“You doubting me, babe?” His hands slip behind her back to unclasp her bra and then come back around to drag it slowly down her arms. “You don’t think I can make you feel good?”

 

He ducks his head to press a kiss to the top of her breast, his eyes never leaving hers.

 

“I think you can,” Clarke says, gasping softly as his lips close around her nipple and give a strong suckle. “I just want you to- _oh_ \- prove it.”

 

He releases her nipple and moves to the other one, giving it its due attention. “Christ, babe, look at you. Look at these perfect tits. You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

 

Bellamy’s fingers slip into the waistband of her leggings, teasing the fabric down as his words tease her. She lifts her hips up off the boxes and he gets the hint, pulling the leggings and her underwear down in one motion, gently tugging them off her legs and tossing them to the floor. She is completely naked before him, who is still fully clothed, and he is staring at her bare form with the utmost adoration.

 

She is fucking _soaked_.

 

“What are you going to do, huh?” she breaths, because she can give it as much as she can take it. “Are you going to go down on me? Or use your fingers?”  Clarke spreads her legs, bearing her pussy to him, and slowly drags a finger down her body to rub gently at her clit.

 

“Fucking hell, babe,” Bellamy groans, watching her work at herself. “That’s so hot, Clarke. So fucking hot.”

 

“I need more,” she whines, dipping her finger into her cunt and coating it with her arousal before dragging it back up her slit to rub at her clit again. “I need you, Bellamy, _please_.”

 

“Okay, babe,” he says, kneeling down so his face is right at her cunt. “I’ve got you, sweet thing. I’ll take care of you.”

 

He throws her right leg over his left shoulder and bites and the inside of her thigh, using his left arm to wrap around her middle and hold her in place. His right hand presses her other thigh open, and he licks his lips before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to her clit.

Clarke throws her head back, arching into the contact. He doesn’t stop there; he sucks the sensitive nub into his mouth and laves at it with his tongue, up and down, up and down, and side to side until Clarke is thrashing about, only held in place by the arm over her waist.

 

Her fingers clutch at him, one hand buried in his hair and the other gripping the arm slung over her middle, her nails digging into the skin of his forearm. “Bell! _Oh, fuck_! Yes, Bell, more. More. _Please_ , more.”

 

She’s close, and she knows he can get her there with his tongue alone, but she is desperate to feel his fingers inside of her, stretching her out and rubbing up against the sweet spot inside of her. Her cunt is clenching down on nothing as he works her up, and she needs that added stimulation to push her over the edge quicker.

 

“You want my fingers, Clarke?” Bellamy asks, abandoning his assault on her clit for a moment. His lips and chin are shining, and she can’t help but lean forward and drag his face up to hers, licking the taste of her arousal off his tongue.

 

“ _Please_ fuck me with your fingers, Bell,” she begs, collapsing back against the boxes. “I need it; I need it so bad.”

 

“How can I deny you when you ask me so sweet like that?” Bellamy hums, kissing her clit as he rubs two fingers over her slit, coating them in her arousal. “My filthy girl, begging me to finger fuck her. How can I say no to that?”

 

He slips one, then two fingers inside of her, then gets his lips right back on her clit again, this time doubling his efforts. His fingers are long and thick and are crooked up inside her just right, fucking up against that spot and he’s right, she does scream for him.

 

“Fuck! Bellamy, oh my God, _fuck! Yes_!” she screams, arching up against him as she comes _hard_ , the waves of pleasure almost too much. The rests of her screams are incoherent, just a mix of groans and whines and whimpers as she rides out her orgasm.

 

Bellamy lets up on her clit as she comes down, figuring it would be too much, but his fingers keep working. He can feel the walls of her cunt still pulsing around him, so warm and wet and fucking tight, and he presses hard up against her sweet spot, fluttering his fingers and hoping his hunch is correct.

 

“Oh, oh, Bellamy, wait- _oh! Fu-u-uck_!”

 

Clarke falls into another orgasm within seconds, clenching around Bellamy’s fingers. He watches in amazement as a gush of fluid coats his hand, and without a moment’s hesitation he dips his head down to lap it up, cleaning every drop off himself as he slowly brings her back down. He licks into her next, once he slips his fingers out of her, making sure to catch every bit of her arousal, tangy and Earthy and just a little bit metallic, and so _Clarke_ that he never wants to taste anything else for the rest of his days.

 

“So,” Clarke says, breathing heavily, her face and chest flushed a delicious pink from her orgasms. “Do you think I should add those to my next sketch?”

 

Her eyes look towards his arm, and he follows her gaze to see the scattering of crescent moon indents, reminiscent of her fingernails digging into his skin. He laughs, tracing over the indents.

 

“You’ll add some more before the night is through.” He looks back up at her and winks. “I’m not quite done with you yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry I've been MIA lately, everyone! if you want to catch up, I'm on tumblr  
> (bilexualclarke)


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